


Mad World

by Renmiriffx



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bonding, But it's only cos im weird, Deal?, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Foul Language, Group home - AU, Happy ending doesn't live here, Hurt/Comfort, I'll let u decide if it's fucked up happy or fucking sad, It's gonna be sad, M/M, Okay the ending ain't gonna be that bad, Romance, You Have Been Warned, hint of smut, some amount of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-13 23:27:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5720986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renmiriffx/pseuds/Renmiriffx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey never cared much of a future for himself, being sent to group home, being beaten by his father, whole life just shit.<br/>But a simple knock on his room door changed all that, and for once Mickey dreamed of happiness.<br/>But like everything in his life, I didn't last... Nothing ever did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome

**Author's Note:**

> Someone once said to me that I should write my feelings out, after six fucking hours of laying in bed, I decided to try.  
> So this ain't gonna be a happy fic.  
> I have no knowledge of foster system in US, but I'm basing this after my own intern experience (which I did in a group home/juvy) in my home country  
> Not my native language, so typos and grammar errors, IM SO SORRY.  
> Ah, leave me something, love?  
> I don't bite, not hard anyways ;)

_I used to be so hard to find_

_Rage and tears filled my eyes_

_But I now I believe I see much clearer_

_My clarity did not come easily_

_My cell was knocked into me_

_But now at least I know who’s in the mirror_

_I am quiet inside_

_Though they drag me by a wire_

_Through the storm that cracks the sky_

_I am quiet inside_

_Andy Tubman – Quiet Inside_

 

Six fucking months… And Mickey had no idea how long he still had to stay in the group home. In a way he should be thankful, rather a stupid fucking group home than juvy. Because by any means, Mickey Milkovich wasn’t your average ‘good boy’, he was as southside as you’d get. He’d done some serious shit to get him landed in a group home. The only thing was that the foster system was – for some odd reason- more concerned about his daddy hitting him, so hence group home for boys over juvy. Didn’t matter much to Mickey, it’s was same bullshit to him.

 It didn’t matter who hit him, the person he used to call daddy or the pricks in the group home, all the motherfuckers who pretended to care, and by _care_ they meant discipline which came with a bunch of fucking rules. But in reality, no one really gave a shit, not for someone like Mickey anyways, he’d been gone since the day he was born. Might as well tattoo fuck-up on his face instead his knuckles, which spelled the story of Mickey fucking up anyone who stood in his way. Self-protection bullshit and sometimes it worked, assholes knew to stay away. But little did Mickey know that someone was going to fuck up, royally fuck up, his world.

It all started with a knock.

Mickey was deep in listening to heavy metal, so deep in his thoughts that he barely heard the knock on his room door. Annoyed he ripped the headphones off.

“Satan will see you now!” He yelled sarcastically and his door was opened.

He was greeted with a warm smile as Angela, one of the counselors peeked her head in. She was mother-looking old hag. She could have fooled anyone with her loving smile, but she was nurse Racthed in the flesh, the spawn of Hitler and torture was her department.

“Mickey,” She said still smiling, “I have good news for you.”

“What? Your smelly vag finally retiring?” Mickey shot at her, grinning.

“You’re getting a roommate,” She announced.

“Come again?” Mickey had to spoon the wax off his ears.

It was standard in the group home that the teenagers had their own rooms, but exceptions were made if they were full.

“You heard me young man, a roommate,” She continued and shoved a scrawny boy in. “This is Ian Gallagher,” She said and pointed the kid next to her.

Mickey glanced at the boy. Fiery red hair, lanky, face full of freckles, probably few years younger than Mickey. He picked his fingernails eyes glued on the floor, what a fucking pussy Mickey thought and sighed, turning his leer on the wall.

“You boys play nice. I’ll get you a mattress once you’ve settled in.” She said to Ian.

“I hope you get hit by a bus,” Mickey spat at Angela.

“ _Mickey_ , last warning or no phone for two weeks,” She warned, still fucking smiling and left the room, patting Ian on the shoulder.

“Fucking hag,” Mickey muttered under his breath.

Once again he turned to look at Ian. He motioned with his finger to Ian to get closer. And the younger boy gulped, but obeyed none the less. Once he was close enough, Mickey yanked him closer by his t-shirt, making the boy almost crash on top of Mickey.

Angry hot breath escaped Mickey’s lips as he hauled the ginger closer so he could whisper in his ear.

“Stay the fuck out of my way,” Mickey said releasing his grip from the boy, who nodded in agreement. “These tats aren’t for show FYI,” He continued, showing off his knuckles. And the kid nodded again.

“Good,” And the headphone were back on.

**

Mickey didn’t see the new kid at dinner which was fine, because Mickey always ate alone, and the new meat might have been stupid despite his warning and he might have sat next to Mickey. Mickey hummed peacefully when he ate, enjoying his alone time while it lasted.

When Mickey returned to his, _now their room_ , he saw a mattress on the corner and the boy laying in it in a fetal position. The boy hugged his knees tight to his chest, hands plastered around them. Mickey rolled his eyes, leaving the boy be for now and jumped on his bed.

Lights out by ten. Who the fucks goes to bed by ten o’clock? Not any normal teenager that’s for sure. They’d have to hand in their phones for the night. Mickey gave his to Angela, smirking all he could get away with. Ian barely noticed Angela’s presence when she said her goodnights.

“Remember to pray that god can save your souls.” She said and flicked the light off.

“God can kiss my ass,” Mickey said, pulling the covers over him.

“We’ll see about that when the judgement day comes Milkovich,” Angela said before she shut the door behind her.

“Like god and me would ever get along anyways. Fairy tales are for children, fucker!” Words rolled off Mickey’s tongue as he flipped the birdie at the now shut door.

Mickey got his second phone out from the pillowcase and placed the headphones on, minding his own business. Another day in paradise, served.

**

Sweet sounds of Slipknot’s couldn’t smother out the sobs coming from the corner of the room. Corey Taylor was right _people do equal shit_ as the sobbing got even louder. Normally Mickey would have beaten the shit out of the kid, but that might make him cry even more, so Mickey decided against it.

“Shut the fuck up kid, no one wants to hear your crying. Mommy ain’t here to soothe you, so suck it up and shut up.” Mickey said, voice between angry and numb.

The sobbing seemed to fade away, making Mickey very happy. He rolled onto his stomach, getting lost in the music again.

“I miss my family.” Voice in the corner said.

Mickey didn’t bother to take the headphones off.

“I.don’t.care,” He said.

“I’ve been in the foster system before, but never without my siblings…”

“Seriously kid, shut up!” Mickey said with force this time.

“I shouldn’t be here, I should be home, I wanna go home…” And the sobbing started again.

Mickey was annoyed as a bull seeing a red clout. He got up, tearing his headphones off and he hunched behind the kid, taking him by the neck, squeezing hard.

“Nobody ain’t supposed to be here, you need to shut up before I hurt you,” Mickey stressed out.

When the ginger kid turned around to look at Mickey, his tear jerking face inches away, eyes red and swollen from the crying.

“My mom’s dead,” He whispered.

That alerted Mickey, he released his grip, face softening a bit. It made him remember how’ve he felt when his mother passed away when he was still a child. He took the kid by his jaw and looked directly at those greenish eyes.

“Look I’m sorry, but you gotta turn it down, if you wanna survive here. They eat cry-babies for breakfast, got that?” He sighed.

“How old are you anyway?” He asked, taking a few steps back.

“Sixteen,” The kid said.

“Could have taken you for a twelve year old kid,” Mickey laughed and smacked the kid across his head. “But shut the fuck and go to sleep,” Mickey said, face turning back to its usual frown, brows furrowed.  

 


	2. Ain't no hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, ain't that long, but fuck it. I needed to get it out. Fours days laying in bed, doing practically nothing ain't good for you. I literary thought till few hours ago that it was Wednesday, I thought it was weird when ppl carried beer cases out of the store.  
> But yeah, don't take this fic tad seriously, it's mostly my rambling and dark takes on life, as I currently see it.  
> It gets brighter for a second, but then it comes crashing down.  
> Fuck, I'm out, peace.

Mickey flickered his eyes open, slowly adjusting them to the morning light, it was a blissful blur, but once it settled, he felt eyes on him. The kid sat on the corner, legs crossed, head tilted leaning against his palm. He smiled when he looked at Mickey.

“Fucks your problem kid?” Mickey grunted and turned to face the wall, tugging the covers over him, escaping the light.

“You look peaceful when you sleep, what’d you dreamed about?”

Peaceful huh? Last image before he woke up was the burning world. If he looked peaceful dreaming about that, what did it tell about him? He should beat the kid up, but he didn’t felt like losing all of his privileges, besides he took pity on the boy. Like he was a stray dog, one you pity when you see it’s big eyes full of sadness and hope, but don’t really do anything about it, because you don’t know how to. You kind of look at it, heart softening for a bit, but once you turn your head away, it’s gone before you can do anything about it. Or maybe he felt similarity in some level, something he couldn’t quite explain. Whatever it was, the kid didn’t deserve it, _the pity_ , nor this place.

There’s a human emotion that nobody should feel. It’s fucking ugly, pitying someone, might as well say that they are pathetic losers and life was going to fuck them up. No escape, no light, just endless nights of fear, drowning you under the sea of lies. Filthy little lies, telling you everything’s going to be alright, when they all know, it’s going to end in tears. Once in elementary school a teacher had given him the _look_ when seeing his bruised face. And Mickey didn’t want to see that face ever again. Face of “ _I’m so sorry it happened to you, but hey you’ll get over it_ ”. A constant reminder that he was destined for hell.

“Fucking butterflies. Leave me alone.” He muttered, bored, annoyed or what the fuck ever.

But the bore of the eyes was still on his back like nails on a coffin.

**

School was the one thing you couldn’t escape in a group home. Mickey wasn’t allowed to attend in a public school, caretakers and counselors of the group home learned quickly that no way in hell was Mickey going to school. He always managed to escape somehow, loitering all day, sometimes running away, but it never ended well. They always brought him back. They made his life a living hell, so he decided that he’d make sure that theirs was as well. Therefore Mickey was placed in a study group in the group home. It was meant for the flight risk kids, who refused to study or those who had trouble of or concentrating had mental health issues. It was a small group of 10 people, but that particular day they had an 11th member.

Why was the fiery redheaded kid there, what was his face. And why he sat next to Mickey, was a question Mickey didn’t know the answer to. Though he stopped caring about it, even if the kid kept stealing glances of him every now and then. Sometimes Mickey looked back, but thought nothing of it, other times he just buried his head on his arms. Sometimes he told the teacher to fuck off when he was asked a question. He was always rewarded with a snigger next to him. And to be honest, Mickey found the sound of that laugh — nice. 

**

At dinner Mickey’s serenity was disturbed. Like a cuckoo clock his head spun at the direction of the now familiar voice.

“Hey,” The kid said, coming behind Mickey and from the looks of him, planned to sit opposite of Mickey.

Mickey glanced across the dining hall and saw Angela looking at his direction, that fucking pleased smile of hers spreading on her face. The hag probably thought that Mickey had made a friend. He rolled his eyes on the thought of a _friend_ , but still grunted in response to the kid.

“Nice day today,” The kid said, bit nervous.

“Looked that up on the small-talk guidebook?” Mickey sneered.

“You just seemed…”

“Seemed like what?” Mickey said, looking up from his dinner.

“Lonely,” The kid said, sheepishly smiling.

“Listen kid—“

“It’s Ian, Ian Gallagher,” The kid voiced strongly.

“Don’t care, if you have weird fictitious feelings that I could be some big brother figure to you, you’re wrong. Listen carefully kid, I.don’t.fucking.care,” Mickey said, letting each syllable roll of his tongue.

“Well I don’t care either,” The kid responded with utter confidence, something Mickey hadn’t seen in a while.

“What the fuck do you want from me, huh?”

“Nothing,” was the blunt response.

“Ay, nothing huh? Then why are you still here?”

“Nothing, just eating,” He said, smirking, “Got a problem with that?”

“Whatever,” Mickey said and turned to his food again.

It annoyed the shit out of him, this kid, _Ian_ , whatever. Like he was asking for a beat down, but same time asking for a friend. And Mickey couldn’t frap his head around that. First it was there and next it was gone. Like butter melting in porridge. It’s there, you know it’s there, you taste it, but you can’t see it.

**

Mickey dreamed of his sister, Mandy. He wondered how she was, where she was and with whom. They hadn’t seen each other for a while, maybe two years now. He still cared for her in his own twisted way, but not as much as he used to. They used to hold hands and run in the woods, playing Robin Hood and Sheriff of Nottingham. Mandy was the hero, because she was like Mickey, she didn’t take shit from nobody, she wasn’t going to play the damsel in distress. She always had to be the hero. Leaving Mickey play the villain. Like the cards had been played long ago, dooming him in lifelong sentence of darkness.

It was around 2 A.M when he woke up. Smiling at his own stupid thoughts, he wasn’t doomed. Real life has heroes and villain, and somebody has got to play the roles. He shouldn’t feel so bad about it, just the way the world works. There isn’t a God or a higher power deciding how plays and what, it just is, just _fucking_ is. And if villainery was his game, he was going to play the shit out of it. Starting by having a forbidden smoke.

But of course the kid was a light sleeper, and he woke up as soon as Mickey’s feet hit the floor.

“Where’re you going?” He asked voice filled with not sleep, but fear of some sorts. Like the monsters were going to eat him if he was left alone.

“Out, smoke…” Mickey snarled.

“Won’t the night guard catch you?” The kid asked baffled.

“Ha, he’s probably too busy jacking off.” Mickey laughed.

“Can I come?”

Mickey thought about it for a few seconds, if they’d get caught he could always get some heat off by laying some of blame on the kid. Besides it would be easier with help.

“Sure, but be quiet,” He said. “Get your shoes.”

They creaked the door open and Mickey made sure no one saw them and motioned for the kid to follow him. Shoes in one hand they tiptoed their way past the guard’s booth, no sight of the guard, but they still hunched. Getting past the guard was one thing, but getting past the front door was another thing. It had an automatic lock and if it was let open, it’d make an alarm, alerting the staff. Window was an easier option. The ventilation window on the kitchen was small, but unlocked.

Mickey opened it, kicking the grate off, breaking property was least of his problems. He signed the kid to go first. His scrawny ass fitted through easily, Mickey had more difficulties with it. His muscly torso just fitted through it.

“Might wanna ease off the training,” The kid whispered to him.

“Shut up,” Mickey almost sniggered.

Once they were outside, they needed to get over the fence surrounding the facility. _Prison_ was more like it though, minus the barbwire. Again, the kid got over it easily, lanky ass bastard, he reached his hand to Mickey.

“Fuck you, I can do it myself,” He said and hoped on the fence, almost falling off, but still managed to get a firm grip so he could toss himself on the fence.

They went to the nearby woods, Mickey leading the way. He sat on a rock and started rolling a joint.

“Hey, that’s not a smoke,” The kid said.

“Never said I was going to smoke a cigarette,” Mickey licked the paper and gave the joint a final roll over and lit it up.

Lung full off smoke, he held it in for seconds before huffing it out. He passed the joint to the kid, who handled it like he had smoked before.

“Not your first time?” Mickey found himself asking.

The kid laughed and passed the joint back to Mickey.

“No, what kind of southsider you take me?”

“I dunno, you just seem like this innocent little fox,” Mickey said.

“Fox?” The kid laughed even more.

“Fuck off, they’re red aren’t they?” Mickey voiced out, getting off the rock and laying on the moss.

“Well yeah, but still.”

The somehow glorified silence between them lasted as long as the joint burned. The kid initiated the conversation they were about to have.

“You know what the fox says?”

“What?” Mickey asked, mind slipping into numbness.

“Just that you called me a fox, got me thinking of the song you know,” The kid said, carefully laying himself beside Mickey, just like testing if the waters okay, not too cold or too warm. And Mickey let him, lay down, not too close. But there none the less.

“What fucking song?” Mickey asked.

“Oh my god, you haven’t heard the song, it’s like so annoying,” The kid giggled.

“Whatever,” Mickey said crossing his arms behind his head.

“Why are you here?”

“Riding my high.”

The kid giggled.

“No, I mean here, in this place?”

“Let’s just say I wasn’t a good boy, wasn’t the hero,” Mickey sighed, eyes on the gloomy glowing stars.

“I think you are,” The kid said, turning to face Mickey, resting his head on his hand.

“You think I’m what?”

“A hero.”

It’s Mickey’s turn to laugh.

“And what gives you that idea?”

“I don’t know, I just feel it,” The kid said, briefly smiling.

Mickey sighed. It’s been a long time since anybody has said anything remotely nice to him, and he found it comforting. He heard a small crack inside himself, like something was coming down.

“Don’t know the whole story kid,” He said.

“But I see the cover and I think it’s beautiful.” The kid said, quietly, almost as he was whispering it.

“Think I’m beautiful?” Mickey asked, turning to face the kid.

“Yes,” Mickey saw the kid’s hand making its way to his side, ghosting over Mickey’s hand, aching to take it.

And Mickey told himself that I was the weed talking, that nobody could really think that he was beautiful, that he was _something_. Not the fuck-up he was born as, but the person he is.

There’s a distant sound of branches cracking which alerted the boys.

“Fuck,” Mickey huffed, “It’s the fucking night guard.”

He sprinted up, yanking the kid with him. He took his hand, and started running.

“Come on Gallagher!” He yelled.

The hand felt warm and tingly. And Mickey would be laying if he’d say it didn’t feel nice. He gripped tad much harder, squeezing it, feeling the blood pump and rush, mixing with his own heartbeat.  In the end he didn’t know whose heartbeat it was. They laughed like maniacs when they ran and ran, enjoying their freedom, just like wild flowers danced with the wind.

Eventually the night guard caught them, hauling them back to the group home, saying that Angela would deal with them in the morning.

But when Mickey woke up next morning Gallagher wasn’t there, boring holes to his back with his gaze. Just an empty mattress on the corner, not even covers or pillows.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Chaps are gonna be longer, no worries.  
> And fuck, I'm out, peace.


End file.
